


I'm Getting Kind Of Sick of This

by humanteethforanimalbones



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bev Katz is Will's friend, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal Lecter is an SCP, Hannibal is a pompous asshole, Jack Crawford is site commander, M/M, Other, SCP AU, Sad Cannibal Hours, Stalking, Unrequited Love, Will Graham is a researcher, Will is an unrefined asshole, Will thinks differently, please don't get mad at me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanteethforanimalbones/pseuds/humanteethforanimalbones
Summary: Site-273, one of the many pseudo-laboratory structures utilized by the shadow organization known as the SCP Foundation. Contained in this site is the mysterious and dangerous SCP-9681, otherwise known as "Dr. Lecter." Also dwelling here is Dr. Will Graham, who isn't entirely convinced Lecter's all that.Lecter believes differently about Will.//yeah so updates may be slow, and uhh also i'm not a professional when it comes to SCP lore, this is just an AU, don't get mad at me, please, i'm begging you
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah aight so dude bro homeslice, this here's a brief introduction of what ever the piss is going on, i wrote most of this pretty late at night, i'll put myself together at some point lmao. if i don't, just leave me to rot lmao

Dr. Graham stared at the paper in his hands. Black ink contrasted heavily against the bright, crisp white of the paper. It was a relatively thick stack of papers, documents sandwiched between documents, all discussing one subject.

SCP-9681, better known as "Dr. Lecter."

"Dr. Lecter.."

Graham mumbled to himself, staring down at the papers. The ghost of a chuckle escaped him as he gazed down at the paper. Unlike other specimens at the Foundation, the "doctor" in his name was an actual accreditation. 9681 studied at a medical school on the East coast of the United States. He worked as a surgeon, and later a psychiatrist, before he was secured. He actually preferred to be called "Dr.," according to the SCP's containment procedures.

Item #: SCP-9681  
Object Class: Euclid  
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-9681 is to be contained in a 16x16 foot container. It is to be given access to psychiatric as well as medical magazines and textbooks. All of this is entirely preferential, and can be taken away so long as ample reason has been provided. Materials for drawing are also allowed, such as charcoal, pencils, and paper. If subject asks for sharpening materials, requests are to be redirected to Site Command.  
SCP-9681 is allowed to have discussions with Dr. Bloom, Dr. Chilton, and Dr. Crawford, so long as subject is restrained in a straight jacket, face coverings, and with armed guards present. D-Class personnel are allowed into 9681's containment cell during testing alone, and under strict supervision through camera monitoring systems.  
Description: SCP-9681 appears to be a male homosapien in his mid to late fifties. He stands at 5' 11" and tends to wear high-end, fitted suits. He speaks in a Lithuanian accent, and claims that to be his country of origin, and is capable of speaking multiple languages, including English, French, Spanish, Latin, and Lithuanian, though appears to prefer speaking English. Subject maintains a polite exterior, speaking maturely and professionally, nurturing a comfortable environment. Anomalous properties only arise when faced with someone he deems as "rude." Once in contact with a subject deemed rude, now "SCP-9681-A," will die within a month. SCP-9681-A is found deceased in what SCP-9681 calls "art." Autopsies of SCP-9681-A reveal that the heart, liver, and kidneys have been removed from the subject, and will somehow end up in the possession of SCP-9681.  
Addendum-

"So, stuck with the good doctor, huh?"

Will was shaken from his reading by his co-worker, Dr. Katz. She was smiling, leaning on Dr. Graham's desk.

"According to Dr. Crawford, the doctor is stuck with me.."

Dr. Graham muttered, resting the stack of papers on his desk. He pushed his glasses up his forehead, moving them to rub his eyes.

"Can't see why he'd want me to go in there with 'em, unless I pissed him off past the point of no return."

"Dr. Crawford wouldn't do that, not to you anyway. 

Graham looked at Katz, his eyebrows furrowed, wordlessly implying “What the precise hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Crawford sees you as a pet project. You’ve got a knack for working with these kinds of things. God knows he wouldn’t want someone like you dead.”

Will glared at her for this, to which she put up her hands.

“Price’s words, not mine.”

Will smiled at that. Despite the kind of work they did, more often than not required reel after reel of unending gore, Katz somehow always maintained a sense of humor. Come to think of it, it was everyone who worked down in the morgue, or at least the ones Will bothered to talk to. Katz, Zeller, Price, all of them had a sort of warmth to them. A sense of humor padded comfortably with a kind of macabre fascination with the deceased, and how they met their anomalous ends.

“But you believe it.”

“Well.. He does tend to keep your leash a lot shorter than the rest of ours. He’s got an eye on you, that’s for sure.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Will himself was anomalous, in a way. Throughout his life, at least prior to being under the watchful eye of the Foundation, Graham had somehow been able to attract, and arguably explain, unexplainable phenomena. Be it benign or malicious, they’d always managed to find him, to try and hurt him. He’d almost died, just once, in which the Foundation had managed to swoop in just in time to drag his sorry, broken ass back to the Foundation, where he was given the title of “researcher.”

“Dr. Graham.”

A noise, sharp in its baritone, cut through their conversation. Katz stood up straight in response, and Will’s back turned rigid, sitting up straight and swirling around in his desk chair.

“9681’s ready, you almost done?”

The origin of the voice was Dr. Jack Crawford, the site commander of 273. His arms were folded as he stared at Graham. He looked as he always had, stern and intimidating, but also tired. Very, very tired.

“Almost. I just want to finish looking over his file.”

“Well, you’d better hurry up. It’s the punctual type, if you don’t want to end up on that report, I suggest you pick up the pace.”

With that, Crawford turned and left, returning back to the interrogation cell a short ways from the office.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Graham asked, turning to Katz, who was simply staring at the doorway, her arms folded.

“The doctor and him have.. a history. No one’s really sure what happened, but it was pretty rocky.”

“What, before containment?”

Will asked, turning back to the pile of reports, flipping through them, hunting for any kind of incident that occured between Dr. Crawford and Dr. Lecter.

“Before containment.”

Beverly confirmed, nodding. She looked at Graham with an excited fascination, like the topic lit some sort of kindling within the confines of her pupils.

“Lecter was out and free before we got him. He worked in Baltimore, right around where Crawford lived, and as a doctor no less. The chances that they’d cross paths at some point isn’t exactly zero.”

Graham sat back, thinking. An anomalous hazard like Lecter definitely had the capacity to do damage. Maybe that’s what turned Crawford into the cold, stern person he was? The reason why there was a ring on his finger, but he’d never heard tell of any Mrs. Jack Crawford.

Will stood, picking up the papers with him, lowering his glasses back over his eyes.

“Might as well get this over with.”

He mumbled, letting out a sigh. Walking into that interrogation room might as well have been the last thing he ever did, apprehension was granted when faced with something like that.

Katz slapped him on the back encouragingly, smiling.

“You’ll do fine.”

She reassured Graham. He offered a nervous smile in return, before turning and disappearing out of the door.

“And if you don’t, we’ll be very gentle with your corpse!”

Bev called after him from the doorway as Graham walked down the hallway, bound for the interrogation room. He waved Katz off, before facing the door.

It was surrounded by Foundation security, clad in combat armor and brandishing high-caliber weaponry. Jack was no exception. He was holding a double-barrel shotgun, holding its muzzle to the ceiling as he turned to look at Graham.

“Ready?”

He asked, raising his eyebrows a little bit. If Graham hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought that was a flick of concern in his gaze. But, no, no no no no. It was a command. He had to be ready.

“Is he?”

Graham replied, nodding to the locked security door.

“It’s not restrained, we thought we’d get more out of it if it were allowed a little more freedom. Be careful, don’t let it get too close.”

Crawford spoke about the doctor as if he weren’t a person, but a thing. Something inanimate, and uncontrollable.

“Right, just don’t forget to pull me out when we’re done.”

Graham said, a blank look on his face as he turned back to the door, Crawford signaling to the guards to open the door. With a click, and a quiet hiss, it opened, and Graham was ushered inside.


	2. Interrogation One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Graham meets with Dr. Lecter face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyy had ah ahd kvpddfijjgsfv
> 
> i swear i'll stop dragging my feet at some point.

Inside of the interrogation cell was incredibly different from what Graham had anticipated.

He’d been expecting to be greeted with the blinding white interior, with the subject sitting at a table in the center, clad in some sort of prison jumpsuit, with two-way glass on at least one side of the room, and security cameras tracking every single movement the two of them would make.

That, however, was not the case.

As the heavy, metallic door shut behind him, Will was able to better take in his surroundings. In front of him was a sturdy, wooden desk. The walls were coated in a patterned, maroon wallpaper, and the floors were, instead of the sterile white he was used too, were a dark wood panelling. Standing behind the desk, was the subject. Dr. Lecter.

“Good morning. You must be Dr. Graham. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The subject was human, at least from what he could see. Bipedal, dressed and groomed immaculately. He looked to be dressed more for an opera, than an interrogation at what was, essentially, a prison. His hands were clasped behind his back, his mahogany eyes burning into Will’s blue ones.

Will simply nodded in acknowledgement. On the table, was a piece of paper, as well as a tape recorder. Beside the tape recorder, Will placed down the beige folder that contained everything about Lecter. Well, he more so tossed it down than actually set it down. He pressed a red button on the recorder. With a click, and a quiet “whir,” the tape began recording.

“Yes, I am he. I doubt that I need to explain what we’re doing here?”

He asked, taking a seat in a chair opposite to Lecter, just in front of the desk, gesturing for Lecter to take a seat as well. The subject looked displeased at the researcher’s disregard of any formality. This would typically mean a death sentence, but they were hardly two sentences into their encounter. Why cut it off so soon? He took a seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so.

“I can assume we’re here to discuss me. This isn’t my first interrogation, Dr. Graham.”

Lecter replied, smiling, almost like he was joking.

“Yes,”

Graham confirmed with a brief nod. When putting the two doctors side-by-side, their differences were apparent, Will took great notice of this. Lecter was incredibly well put together, despite his situation. His hair was combed, and he smelled like expensive perfume. Was that natural? It wasn’t listed in the report that he was allowed access to any of that. His suit was tailored to fit him, probably taken from his old home in Baltimore. Will, on the other hand, looked like he’d just been plucked from a fishing boat back in Louisiana. His hair was a complete mess, brown curls running wild. His stubble was unkempt and messy, he looked tired, a combination of Advil and being Foundation personnel had done a number on him.

“I was hoping to talk to you about your time outside of the facility Dr. Lecter.”

Lecter’s expression changed then. His welcoming smile turned nostalgic.

“I remember those times fondly. A wolf among sheep, and impossible to catch.”

The doctor, apparently, couldn’t help but gloat. Will didn’t return the lighthearted attitude, he instead scoffed.

“More like a butcher.”

Lecter’s eyes narrowed, an eyebrow arching as if asking for more clarification on that.

“A wolf would be obvious. A wolf mauls its prey without rhyme or reason. It kills to feed and to defend. You don’t kill for that purpose.”

Lecter’s expression shifted again, along with his posture. He crossed one leg over the other, staring at Graham with a distinctive shimmer in his eye.

“I don’t?”

“No. No, you don’t.”

“Then why do I kill?”

Will had seen the police reports, the coroner’s reports, pictures of the crime scenes. He’d never seen anything quite like what Lecter was capable of. It was never animalistic, never messy. It was calculated, an intricate work of art that told a twisted, deranged story. One that no wolf would be able to tell.

“You did eat them, but not to sustain yourself.”

Will analyzed, his gaze meeting Lecter’s.

“You did it for pleasure. Showing the flock that they need to be afraid, showing the shepherds that they will never be able to truly protect the flock.”

Lecter didn’t move then, no confirmation, no continued discussion. His expression hadn’t changed however, he delighted in listening to Graham talk. He wasn’t wrong, that’s what he did. That’s what he relished in doing. That’s what, inevitably, got him caught.

“You appear to know much about me. The Foundation is incredibly thorough in their research, I must commend you for that.”

Will shook his head

“Doesn’t take research to know your motivation. Anyone who got a peak at your crime scenes would know that, whatever you were doing, it wasn’t mindless.”

Lecter sat back in his chair, wordlessly encouraging Will to continue.

“But, I don’t want to talk about motivation.”

“You don’t?”

If Will didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that was disappointment in the doctor’s tone.

“No. I want to talk about your victims.”

Lecter hummed quietly, nodding.

“‘Victims.’”

He spoke as if that wasn’t what they were. 

“I would hardly classify them as such. To give them such dignity would commend their behavior.”

There wasn’t much dignity to what Lecter had done with them, Will thought.

“Was there something wrong with their behavior?”

“They were rude. Such discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.”

“And turning their corpses into art projects makes them not ugly?”

Lecter shook his head. Wrong answer.

“Close, but no. No, even in death they are ugly. I simply allow everyone to see how truly disgusting they are.”

It was Will’s turn to remain silent, watching Lecter as he spoke. The doctor shifted, leaning forward a little.

“Everyone is rude to some degree. From birth to death, we simply hide these.. blemishes. Some are just too rude to wait for natural expiration. I help themselves, and others, realize the disgusting things they truly are. I repurpose them to be useful.”

Lecter was a doctor, a psychiatrist and a surgeon before being placed into containment. This was the way he viewed the human race, and he still worked in a field that would put him in a position to assist people. But, here he was, talking to humans as if they were no more than swine rolling about in their own filth. Will swallowed, but was otherwise unphased. Plenty of people had this kind of ideology, Lecter simply had the means to go through with it.

“You have seen it too, haven’t you?”

Lecter asked suddenly, causing Will to snap into a perplexed expression.

“Seen what?”

“The nature of humanity. Fear, anger, sadness, other such unsightly things.”

“What?-”

“Why did you join the Foundation, Dr. Graham?”

What? Will cleared his throat a little, taking in a breath.

“Dr. Lecter, I would-”

“How did you discover the Foundation? By mistake? By coincidence? By intention? None of them appear to fit your-”

“Dr. Lecter, if we could please return to the topic!”

Will interjected, looking offended. He appeared angry, before that dissolved into fear. Shit, that was rude, wasn’t it? Should he signal for extraction? No, Jack would do that on his own if he noticed Will was in trouble, right? But, the doctor didn’t appear offended, he simply eased back into his chair, the curiosity in his eyes fading, settling back to content.

“My apologies, Dr. Graham. Perhaps I was being too forward.”

Will stared for a moment, in shock. He wasn’t dead, or marked to become dead. The doctor didn’t kill him, didn’t mark him for death. What was this? He opened his mouth to talk, but was interrupted by the door swinging open behind him, guards rushing in and raising their guns to Lecter, Crawford following not far behind.

“On the ground, Lecter!”

Crawford’s voice boomed through the room. Lecter’s expression never turned surprised, or scared. He appeared calm, if not a little bored. He stood up, holding up his arms, before kneeling down on the ground. Will was pulled up from his chair, grabbed by Foundation guards and pulled towards the door.

As Crawford barked orders to both guards and Lecter, Will watched, being half-dragged and half-stumbling out of the room. Lecter’s head raised, catching Will’s eye. From his calm, broke a smile, before Will was pulled out of the room, and down the hallway.


	3. Debrief One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Will do some chit-chat, Lecter did a fucky wucky, and Price and Zeller talk a little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning! uh oh! Lecter did a fucky wucky in the form of murder! so like don't read if you don't like that. granted, it isn't that descriptive but still

“Sorry for putting you in that position, Will.”

An hour after Lecter’s interrogation, and after he was led back to his containment cell, Will was in Crawford’s office, going over a standard debriefing. As well as going through a bottle of whiskey Jack kept in his desk.

“It’s for the greater good.”

Will replied coldly, taking a sip of his drink. He watched Crawford over the rim of his glass. His glasses rested on the desk in front of him.

“It’s gotta be worth risking my ass, right?”

He huffed bitterly. Lecter was dangerous, in a word. Even if he could be contained, there was still a threat present, a threat that could get Will killed.

“Like I said, Will, I’m sorry for putting you in that position. But, it was a requirement.”

“A requirement for what?”

“For Lecter. We need you to figure out what makes it tick.”

“Jack, this isn’t some human subject. This is an SCP, an anomaly, we can’t just explain his motives. The only reason why he kills is that he hates people, can’t be anything more than that.”

Jack didn’t like that answer, apparently. He rested his whiskey glass down on his desk, sighing

“Lecter is intelligent, civilized. It isn’t a brutal animal like the others. Shouldn’t it be regretful? Restrained?”

Will frowned, leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

“That’s the thing, he thinks what he’s doing is good.”

“Then it’s delusional.”

Will shook his head, thinking. The gears of his mind were practically audible as they clicked away in his skull

“No, no, not delusional, if he was delusional, he wouldn’t be so.. aware.”

Jack straightened his posture, intrigued. 

“Aware? What do you mean?”

“Like.. Like he was very present. He knew just where he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Will almost seemed to look past Crawford, his eyes passing through him to the wall behind him as he thought about it.

“He asked me why I joined the Foundation.”

Jack’s eyebrows raised a little, his facial expression not moving from his typical stormy calm. His eyebrows were the only thing that could possibly indicate something. He shook his head, dismissively

“Lecter’s got a habit of pushing people. D-Class, researchers, whatever we throw at it, it wants to dissect, either literally or metaphorically.”

Will looked at him skeptically

“You say that like it’s normal. I don’t think he does it for a reaction.”

“Then how would you explain that?”

“I don’t know, Jack. Lecter’s not like the others. I’d have an easier time trying to figure out a dog’s favorite color.”

Will said, sighing and laying back in his chair.

“Just give me a little while, I think I can-”

He was interrupted, once again, by the sound of a door opening behind him. It was a guard, looking panicked.

“Dr. Crawford! Lecter’s gotten one of the men. Dear Christ..”

He looked mortified, his face pale and his eyes wide. Jack stood up, he looked far worse. The man was essentially a human tsunami made out of anger.

“Where? What happened?”

Will simply watched as the man tried to explain what had happened, what he’d seen.

“It was like someone reached into him, and just-just tore him apart. But when I looked, no one was there.”

He said, shuddering, before informing Crawford as to where the incident had taken place. Crawford hurried out of the door, with Will in pursuit. What could he say? He was curious, in a morbid and horrified sort of way. 

No alarms sounded, no sirens wailed as they walked to where the guard had directed them. There was no breach, Lecter was still in containment. This was unprecedented for Lecter, he hadn’t been outwardly violent towards staff before now, right? Aside from the occasional janitor who had choice words about his clothing.

When they got there, it was horrific.

The guard was pinned up to the wall beside a coffee machine in a recreational room. His arms were pulled off, and crudely attached to his back, folded like a child keeping their hands to themself. There was a hole in his abdomen, messily stitched up and leaking blood. Will’s eyes bounced around the scene.

“Yeah, not really his best work.”

Price spoke. He wore a plastic apron over his sweater, slacks, and lab coat. Nearby was Zeller, wearing the same apron, taking pictures of the scene.

“Didn’t have time to think it through.”

Zeller suggested, pointing to the wound on his abdomen

“The doctor usually stitches tighter than that.”

He pointed out, before looking at Crawford and Graham.

“Oh, Dr. Crawford.”

Price and Zeller stood up a little straighter, moving back from the scene to let Crawford look at the body. Will looked at them, nodding in acknowledgment. They weren’t particularly close, but they were co-workers, Graham often consulting them for more information on a variety of autopsy reports, and for a scientific approach to his own theories.

“Lecter did this?”

Crawford asked, looking to Price.

“Looks like it. Got a surgical wound, body’s been mutilated to send some kind of message, all without any indication of a killer. I feel sorry for the person who has to add this report to his file.”

He smiled at Zeller, who gave him a deadpan expression in return.

Will hadn’t paid much attention to that, however. He was too caught up in the body. What happened between the end of the interrogation, and Lecter being put into containment, that could prompt this? His mind was racing, hunting for a solution to that question, hunting for the motivation to break his good behavior streak, until he saw the victim’s face.

It was the man who’d dragged Will from the interrogation cell.

“This is a message.”

Will said, his voice distant.

“A message to him, a message to us. He’s asking us to keep our hands to ourselves. Keep out of his business, and he’ll stay out of ours.”

His eyebrows furrowed. That felt.. too simple? Like it didn’t fit the situation. They hadn’t gone far in their interview, Will barely got anything from him, outside of his nihilistic worldview. So, why react like this? Sure, the intrusion had been rude and abrupt, but they’d done that before, according to past testing, for various reasons. A few aligning with Will’s situation, so why this? Why now? Was it him?

A stabbing pain ran through his head as he thought, and Will scowled. He put his fingers to his temple, massaging it gently. 

“That right?”

Crawford looked at Will, his arms folded, and a frown plastered on his stoney face.

“I think so.”

Will deflected, sighing. He shook his head, turning on his heel.

“I’m going to go work on that report, I’ll see you around, Jack.”

Will didn’t wait for Crawford to dismiss him before he left, walking briskly. At his desk was a cold cup of coffee, and a half empty bottle of Advil. His bread and butter, his body and blood. The sooner he could get there, and away from.. from whatever that was, the sooner he could start thinking objectively, maybe try to find reason in the murky depths of whatever he was trying to think of.


	4. Looking One/Autopsy One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will makes an attempt, The Science Crew isn't very helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic feels lowkey chaotic. idk my back kind of hurts. anyway thanks for reading this, i've been writing it nonstop for like three days and just posting as i go.

Will collapsed into his chair, taking the Advil from his desk drawer. He struggled with the cap momentarily, before popping it open and shaking two into his palm. He popped them into his mouth, grabbing his coffee mug and washing them down, letting out a very audible sigh. He inhaled through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth, closing his eyes.

A pendulum swung through his blackened gaze. It’d been a while since he’d done this, but it was better than driving himself insane trying to crack Lecter from the outside.

He watched from a third person view in the rec room, watching the corpse reverse itself until it was human once more, holding a styrofoam coffee cup in his hand, laughing with his co-workers.

“You’ve overstepped a boundary.”

He said, his voice embittered as he stalked the man, prowling like a predator around the room.

“You’ve shown your true colors, and I will use them to paint on my canvas.”

The man put a hand on his stomach, coughing a little. He laughed it off to his co-worker, before it quickly became worse. He doubled over, the cup dropped to the floor as he gasped for breath and grabbed at his stomach, as if trying to protect his organs.

“I don’t have the time to make your ugliness obvious. This will be quick.”

The man’s head suddenly twisted to the side. It broke, killing him almost instantly.

“I need you to be pliant for what I’m going to do.”

A blood spot began to form on his stomach, blood pooling in his shirt. Will eyed it with little regard, before looking to his upper body.

“You’ve done wrong with these arms. You don’t deserve them.”

Will’s body suddenly moved forward, ripping them around to his back, and pulling them down, stitches appearing to seal the arms to his back.

“You’ve done something rude, something you shouldn’t have done.”

He stepped back. The body pulled itself to the wall as if it were magnetized. Will’s eyes narrowed, trying to look harder.

“But.. What have you done?”

He asked aloud. He looked around the room. Others, faceless people he couldn’t be bothered with moved in slow motion, in a panic.

“You’re just another part of the flock. Mindless, empty-headed. You don’t think, you do. You… You don’t. No, you aren’t. You touched..”

His vision began to blur, and Will began to panic. Everything was fading from view. No, it was too early, he couldn’t lose it yet. He reached an arm forward, reaching for the body that was now fading into smoke and clouds. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain from his stomach. Will doubled over, in pain, clutching his stomach, crying out like a wounded animal. Noise closed in around him, though he couldn’t tell what it was.

“This.. This is.. No, this isn’t.. This is..”

He stuttered out, before feeling hands clamp down on his shoulder. Will was shaken from his mind. He practically jumped out of his own skin, his eyes frantic.

“Graham, Graham, you with us?”

It was Beverly, she looked worried. Price and Zeller were standing not far from her, staring at Will, who was currently coated in sweat with an arm wrapped around his stomach. He sat up, catching his breath and eyeing the room cautiously.

“What.. Why are you here?”

He asked, swallowing a shaky, empty breath.

“Well, we were here to ask if you wanted to see the body...”

Beverly started, before backing off from Will, who looked like he needed space.

“But now I’m not too sure if you’re up for it.”

Price and Zeller nodded in wordless agreement with Beverly. Whatever trance Will had thrown himself into, it looked like it had been brutal. Really, it looked more like Will was having a fit, than he was thinking.

“No, no.”

Will insisted, getting up from his chair. He stumbled a little, catching himself on his desk. He’d write it off as the whiskey he’d had with Jack.

“Just dozed off, I’m fine. I want to see the body.”

Beverly looked to Price and Zeller, who were standing side-by-side, their faces mirror images of each others. They shrugged, leaving the decision up to Beverly, who sighed and nodded.

“Right, let’s go.”

She touched Graham’s shoulder, steering him towards the doorway, before walking out with the other two.

As Graham walked down the hall, he felt like his soul was finally returning to his body. Why couldn’t he see? Usually, it was easy. For Christ’s sake, the guy told him his motivations himself. So, why was it difficult to see why he killed this specific person? Was it him, was he sick? He didn’t feel sick, not at the moment, at least. Strange. He shook his head as they walked down to the morgue.

The sight down in the morgue was… odd, to say the least. The body was laid on a gurney made out of reinforced steel. No, the body laid atop a square of wall, that laid on a gurney made out of reinforced steel.

“Yeah, we tried to get it off the wall, but we couldn’t,”

Price began, before Zeller interjected

“He’s completely stuck to it, but we can’t find any adhesive, anomalous or otherwise.”

Price waved his hand, continuing Zeller’s thought.

“Which I’m sure you already know about, you’ve read the doctor’s file. One of his shticks is wanting to keep his art as it is, which is apparently the case here.”

Will nodded, listening. His eyes wandered between the two, waiting for Zeller to continue talking, but he didn’t. It was a little creepy when they did that. Of course, Will knew that it was just because they were stating facts, and it wasn’t hard to interject like that, but it still felt like he was talking to a pair of creepy twins, rather than a pair of scientists.

“Know what might have caused this?”

Beverly asked suddenly, looking to Will, who glanced at her for a moment, then looked back at the body.

“Ah, I uh.. I can’t be sure, but it’s probably because he considered him rude.”

All three of the others in the morgue looked at Graham expectantly. That bit was old news.

“This one in particular, he.. I think it was because he grabbed me in the middle of our conversation?”

He pointed out, looking to his arms, which were barely visible behind his body.

“What made him do that?”

Beverly asked, casting her gaze down to the fallen guard.

“Could’ve been Crawford. I raised my voice at Lecter, and he probably signalled for extraction.”

Everyone looked surprised at this new piece of information. Will had raised his voice to Lecter, and he wasn’t the one they were dissecting?

“You weren’t the one who called for extraction? I’d be shitting myself if I were there.”

Beverly said, breaking their collective, shocked silence.

“Well, he did apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

This time, it was Price who spoke up, listening to their encounter like it was office gossip.

“It’ll be in the report.”

Will responded, sounding uninterested in expanding on the topic, much to Price’s displeasure. Whatever, he could just read it over afterwards.

“Back to the subject, why do you think Lecter would do this now? Plenty of people have been dragged out of his cell, what’s the difference here?”

Beverly pointed out. Will opened his mouth, preparing to give an answer

“I’m not sure, I’d have to ask.”

“Ask who? Jack? I doubt he’d-”

“Lecter.”

Beverly frowned. Was it a good idea to throw him back in with Lecter? No, she didn’t think so. But was that her call? Nope. All Will had to do was pitch the idea to Crawford, and he’d be back in the interrogation cell getting cozy with the SCP.

“You sure that’s the best course of action?”

“You have a better idea?”

Will answered almost instantly. He was more than a little frustrated at his circumstances. He couldn’t look, and his head hurt. Trying to fish information from the documents he had clearance to access was pointless, considering there was nothing of worth there. Nothing that he didn’t already know.

“You could try going to Jack, he’d be more than willing to share information about Lecter with you.”

No one had more against Lecter than Jack, at least to anyone who saw the two. When Jack looked at him, there wasn’t anything behind his eyes but malice. If it was his choice, he would’ve neutralized Lecter a long, long time ago.

“Ha, yeah, like Crawford knows anything.”

He said skeptically, before backing out of the morgue, and leaving. He was going to get clearance for another interrogation. He had to talk with Lecter again, get further than surface-level, idle chatter.

Beverly watched him leave, frowning. Her arms were folded across her chest. What the hell was up with him? Will never willingly went to talk to Crawford. Never. Every time they did talk, it usually ended in Graham either drowning him out, or leaving entirely. 

Price and Zeller were, comparatively, unbothered. Price simply shrugged, lifting a scalpel.

"His funeral."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecter talks with Jack, and Lecter is kind of an ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perspective switch ah ha ha
> 
> anyway i'll try and get on a real schedule soon, i just have ideas and my brain is like brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
> 
> thanks for the support, dudes. shit's rad!

Lecter’s holding cell was designed specially for him. It’s a standard cell for humanoids, sure, but with a few exceptions. The most significant difference from other holding cells is the decor. It is covered in dark colored wall-paper, the floors made up of dark, oak wood. There is a desk in the center of the room, paper, pencils, and charcoal are organized neatly on top of the desk. In the corner of the room is a twin-sized mattress, covered in expensive looking sheets and blankets. Notably, in the corner of the room, is a harpsichord, not a trace of dust upon it, as it was often used. A record player sits nearby that, a small cabinet beneath it full of records, all being classical music.

Lecter himself was seated on the bench in front of the harpsichord. His hands rested on the keys, about to play, but he was interrupted by a static crackling, and a voice over the loudspeaker.

“SCP-9681.”

He greatly preferred “Dr. Lecter.”

“I am he.”

He replied coolly, turning on the bench. His gaze shifted up to a security camera, located in the corner of the room. There was silence for a moment. Lecter waited in anticipation for further instruction, as was typical with the PA system in his cell.

“Lecter.”

There was a new voice. No, not a new voice, a voice he knew quite well.

“Dr. Crawford. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He tilted his head upward to face the camera fully, an attempt to make eye-contact through the monitors.

“The man you killed.”

Of course. Why wouldn’t he want to discuss this? Such was Crawford, all business.

“Are you alone in the office today?”

“That isn’t a concern of yours.”

Of course he wasn’t alone. Crawford was in the room with an armed guard, a scientist, and, upon request, Dr. Graham.

If Crawford didn’t answer, then he wasn’t alone. Others would be eavesdropping. How rude. No matter, if it was an opportunity to talk with Crawford again, he would take it. Not that Lecter found him particularly interesting, quite the contrary. Crawford was blunt, and serious, and incredibly embittered. Lecter simply enjoyed their interactions because of their history.

“Why did you kill that man?”

Straight to business, as usual. Boring.

“He had intruded upon my conversation with Dr. Graham. That kind of behavior is unsightly.”

Unsightly, ugly, rude, tasteless. Lecter could’ve said anything, but had settled on unsightly. Seeing the doctor being dragged away like that was a sight Lecter had wished he hadn’t seen.

“I asked for extraction because you were pushing Graham.”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

Lecter was very quick to reply to that, smiling slyly at the camera like he’d just made a joke.

“You were looking for a reaction, winding him up so that he would lash out, and you could kill him.”

Jack was always so sharp. Yet, that explanation was incredibly dull for someone like him. He was a member of site command, he held a prestigious position, how could he make such an utterly uneducated deduction?

“I do not aspire to kill Dr. Graham, if that is what you’re concerned about.”

A pause, Jack wanted him to continue.

“Of all of the doctors you send to me, Jack, I find him to be the least unfortunate. His death would mean that he would be replaced with another, and I do not wish for that to occur.”

That was a contradictory description of Will Graham. That man was about one misfortune away from being locked up as well. Well, maybe not in here, specifically. Somewhere with less doctors, and more orderlies.

There was silence for a long, long time. Lecter had lost the privilege of calling Dr. Crawford “Jack” a long, long time ago.

“... You’ve had interrogations interrupted before, and you haven’t lashed out at staff before. Why now is this rude to you?”

Well, not all interrogators were Will Graham. He happened to have enjoyed their conversation so far.

“On other occasions, you had claimed to be justified in stopping my conversations, and I let it pass.”

Security breaches, O-5 requests to terminate interrogations, other, higher-priority SCP’s needing attention, all excuses given to Lecter when his interrogations were interrupted. All excuses that Lecter was willing to let slide. He wouldn’t raise hell unless he truly had the need to.

“I seem to remember you keeping other researchers in when they had outbursts against me, and yet you waited to extract them. Is it something about Dr. Graham, what prompted you to act quicker than normal?”

Crawford wanted Graham on a short leash, Lecter assumed. He wanted to keep his fine china perfectly intact, keep it perfect for guests who required fine treatment. Apparently, Lecter had fit the bill.

There was no response just yet, the microphone turned off as Lecter awaited an answer.

“Is Dr. Graham in the room with you at the moment?”

“At the moment.”

The voice belonged to Dr. Graham. So this is what they were doing, then? Allowing Graham indirect access to Lecter through a proxy, like Crawford? Had it occurred to them that they were, in turn, allowing Lecter indirect access to Graham?

“Answer the question, Lecter,”

Crawford, now.

“Why did you feel the need to lash out now?”

“I happened to enjoy speaking with Dr. Graham.”

Graham, though blunt, was insightful, and brilliant. Or, had the potential to be brilliant, to be something beyond the ugliness that surrounded him.

“I hope that this incident will not impede on any future conversations I have with him.”

Another pause, Jack was weighing his options.

“We’ll see. That’s enough for now.”

Lecter could hear the shuffling of papers over the intercom, as well as hushed voices.

“Dr. Crawford?”

The shuffling stopped, people were listening.

“How is Bella?”

Tense silence, like the air itself was trying to suffocate itself. Immediately following it was the indistinguishable sound of a door slam, followed by the voice of an armed guard.

"That will be all for today, Dr. Lecter. Thank you for your time."

Then the line went dead, any feedback replaced with the soft hum of static.

Lecter, pleased with himself, turned around on his bench, and began to play his harpsichord.


	6. Crawford and Lecter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawford tells Will about his complex relationship with the entity known as Hannibal Lecter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> thanks for all the support, guys, like ya'll are so fuckimg nice wh????

Will sat in Crawford’s office, visibly tense. Crawford looked no better. He was standing, looking outside of his window at the rest of the facility.

“I hope you got all of the answers you wanted.”

Jack said, turning from the window to Graham. His expression was equivalent to the distant rumbling of thunder.

“Hardly.”

Will replied. He looked away from Crawford, a dissatisfied and frustrated expression on his face.

“If I had gone in myself, I probably could have gotten more out of him.”

“It could’ve gotten more out of you.”

Jack replied, walking to his desk and taking a seat in front of Graham. Will looked at him, frowning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Lecter could already be running circles around you now.”

Will rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair, laughing.

“I’m serious.”

Crawford, apparently, wasn’t in a laughing mood.

“This isn’t anomalous. It’s just something Lecter does naturally. It’s much like a parasite. It’ll plant itself into your brain, taking root until it’s ingrained in every thought.”

Jack spoke as if he’d already seen this, been through Lecter’s process before. He had, of course, they did have a history. Crawford froze there, in thought.

“Jack?”

Will asked, breaking the silence. Jack looked from the ground to Graham’s face.

“Have you met Lecter before?”

Crawford inhaled deeply through his nose, letting the breath pass through his mouth. He leaned down, pulling the bottle of whiskey on his desk.

“Prior to his containment, Lecter was a figure of relative notoriety.”

‘His.’ It was like Crawford was talking about a separate person. He pulled up a glass, just one, and poured it full of the amber liquid.

“He was a surgeon, and a psychiatrist after that.”

He set the bottle back down underneath his desk, before taking a sip of the drink.

“He was also a friend of mine.”

Will looked a little shocked then. The polite, or seemingly polite doctor currently sitting in a containment cell, didn’t look like the type to associate with someone so… well, with someone like Crawford. Making this even more unbelievable was Jack’s tenure with the SCP foundation, which went further than that of Lecter’s containment.

“He had been recommended to my wife, Bella, after she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.”

Crawford managed to crack a smile.

“We thought he was a godsend. He was kind, welcoming. His office was open as much as his kitchen. We actually made a habit of going to his home for dinner every other week.”

A pit opened in Will’s stomach. One of the good doctor’s nicknames around the Foundation was Hannibal the Cannibal. It would be funny, if it weren’t for Lecter’s track record.

Crawford’s face shifted, his smile faded.

“My wife died in the spring, a year before we caught Lecter.”

He swallowed, clearly burying his disgust.

“I went to deliver the news to him, to tell him that Bella was no longer with us.”

He took a drink.

“He brought me a meal, one of the most elegant ones I’d seen. Stuffed roast heart, with devilled kidneys and garlic liver pate.”

He remembered the sight well, Lecter walking into the dining room, striding tall and proud, carrying the dish to Crawford. Jack could hardly wait for Lecter to finish pouring his wine before he began to eat.

“When I was planning Bella’s funeral, the mortician told me that something was wrong with the body.”

Will watched Crawford carefully, waiting with baited breath,

“He told me that her heart and her liver were gone.”

Will’s eyes went wide, staring at Crawford, bewildered, horrified. He could only imagine what Crawford could have been thinking, what could have happened when he found this out.

“I looked at the body, and had the mortuary staff at the Foundation take a look.”

Crawford’s head rose, his eyes angry and upset.

“I had to oversee my wife’s second autopsy, and apprehend something I thought was a man. I felt regret, I second-guessed myself. I didn’t think it was true. I thought I could trust that thing.”

He was pointing to the wall, as if Lecter’s cell were right there.

“The entity known as Hannibal Lecter is a monster, by every stretch of the word. I’m not giving it the chance to take anymore than it already has.”

Jack’s voice did not break, his tone did not waver. He sounded driven, determined. Will was simply a bystander to Crawford’s oath.

As much as Will wanted to know more about Hannibal, as much as he wanted to push for more information on him, he didn’t. He closed his eyes, taking in a breath, and opening his mouth to offer his condolences, when Crawford silenced him.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Wh-”

“Go home, Will.”

Crawford turned his attention back to his drink, and Will stood. He was hesitant, and reluctant to do so, but did anyway. Maybe going home would do him some good, maybe help him think more clearly.


End file.
